


shadow springs

by champagne_enema



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Blood and Gore, Desert, F/M, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pyromania, smut in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 01:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/champagne_enema/pseuds/champagne_enema
Summary: “Welcome to Shadow Springs.”whispered the wind.“Where the lost come to rest”





	1. the bird and the worm

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again with another au so ya,,, uh idk why I wrote this tbh but uhhhh it's kind of a vent fic?? Eh who knows anyway each chapter is based off of a song, each is the chapter title so yuh,,,, if this makes no sense then I did smthn right lol

 

> _He wears his heart safety pinned to his backpack, his backpack is all that he's known_

* * *

 

_“Welcome to Shadow Springs!”_ the sign read. “ _Where the lost come to rest. Population: 203”_

 

Keith pulled to a stop on his bike, letting it purr as he squinted at the sign. He whistled. “Jesus, talk about a small town.”

 

He looked forward, to the town itself. Desert stretched on for miles, and nestled between the joshua trees and cacti lied what looked to be the town market. Scattered around the center were homes, far and few in-between.

 

It looked like a small blip in the grand scheme of things. But he had an itch that needed scratching.

 

Keith revved his engine and rode past the sign.

 

He felt-- he couldn't describe it. It was like his whole body stood on edge. Goosebumps puckered across his skin and he shuddered. It felt massive, all encompassing, _electric_.

 

The wind whistled in his ears. It sounded like menacing whispers, _go go go_.

 

The main road crumbled, a pale grey, faded pavement. The sidewalk in the town center was cracked. He didn't see a single soul.

 

He pulled up to the motel and parked, slipping off his bike and helmet.

 

The sun blared down on him, hot and overbearing. His skin boiled, dripped sweat in rivulets. He swallowed heavily.

 

The motel itself looked like a saloon in an old western movie. The planks were rotted and weathered.

 

A tumble weed fluttered behind him.

 

Keith swing open the door and slipped inside.

 

The smell of decay and dust met his nose; he coughed.

 

He blinked into the dimly lit room, the door slamming shut behind him with a loud _bang!_

 

“Hello, there, traveller!”

 

His eyes met the gaze of the man behind the bar. He seemed cheerful enough, with vibrant orange hair and a large moustache.

 

Keith cleared his throat. “Uh, hi.”

 

“Looking for room, or drink?” he asked.

 

“Room, for now.” Keith said shortly. The man waved him closer. He obeyed, like a puppet on a string.

 

A rat scurried across the dark counter.

 

The man dropped a key into his hand, worn wrought iron that smelt of rust.

 

“Around back, room 7.”

 

Keith stared at the key then back at the man. “Uh,” he bit his lip. “No fee?”

 

His eyes twinkled. “No fees in Shadow Springs, Keith. You're stuck here, for good.”

 

Keith gripped the key tighter, a chill running through him. The smell of decay grew stronger, so heavy he could barely breathe. He was caught in the man's gaze-- time faded into the background. All that mattered was his eyes, piercing.

 

His trance was broken with an earth-shattering scream. The glass the man had been cleaning shattered in his hands, glass shards exploding.

 

He felt one embed itself into the flesh of his cheek. Blood dripped down his face.

 

The man wiped his own bloody hand on his apron.

 

His-- filthy apron.

 

Keith blinked. The man, he--

 

Dirt married his skin, his gaunt skin, slashes under his eyes oozing tar. He grinned-- his mouth was full of sharp teeth, _shark teeth_ , sharp and glinting in the candlelight.

 

He blinked again and he-- was back to normal.

 

Just a man with a funny moustache. That's all he was.

 

He smiled knowingly. He reached out and patted Keith's shoulder. “Welcome to Shadow Springs, Keith. Don't be out after dark.”

 

†

 

It wasn't until later that he realized he'd never given the man his name.

 

†

 

Room 7 smelled like the grave.

 

The only window was boarded up with old slats of wood; the only sunlight filtered in between the cracks. The carpet was a deep black, though from grime or something else sinister he couldn't tell.

 

The bedding was faded and floral. A television that belonged in the 70’s sat on a dark dresser. A lamp sat on the end table, the shade stained.

 

A rat sat on his bed, dark with matted fur and beady red eyes. It foamed at the mouth and shrieked at him; he pulled the pistol from his jacket and shot it point blank.

 

Dark bood splattered against the pillowcase and headboard. He pocketed his gun and nudged the carcass off his bed, sitting down on the edge and looking down at his hands.

 

He pulled out the lighter from his pocket and flicked it on. Using his teeth, Keith pulled the glove from his left and and held the fingers over the flame.

 

He pushed them against it. The sting was minor-- it felt _good_. His skin began to redden and bubble. He watched the fire char his fingers with a detatched gaze.

 

He dropped the lighter. When he looked down at his fingers-- which should have been burned to the bone from how long he held them over the fire-- they were pale and unmarred.

 

_Healthy_.

 

Keith slung off his leather jacket and stood, making his way to the bathroom. The light flickered and hummed when he turned it on.

 

A cockroach crawled from the sink, scurrying across the tile. He turned on the water and watched it helplessly slip down the drain.

 

He looked up at his reflection. His eyes looked sallow, the bags under them dark like bruises. His hair was so dark, so ratty, brushing against his shoulders.

 

The grim line of his lips, the angular nose, the scar running across his cheek and jaw.

 

Keith heard the splash of water behind him. He turned.

 

The tub was full of dark red water. Submerged sat a man, _a boy_ , wide eyes staring ahead. His brown hair floated around his face.

 

His arms were slit from wrist to elbow, bleeding sluggishly into the tainted bathwater.

 

The light flickered, and he was gone. The tub was empty.

 

“ _Welcome to Shadow Springs.”_ whispered the wind. “ _Where the lost come to rest”_

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Crazy=Genius

> _ You can set yourself on fire, but you're never gonna burn, burn, burn. _

 

* * *

 

 

He dreamt of warm grey eyes and soft pale hair, draped across brown sheets. Sunlight and laughter, the fluttering of white drapes in the wind. He was happy. Content.  _ At home _ .

 

†

 

“You snore.” is what Keith woke up to.

 

Keith sat up quickly, reaching under his pillow to pull out his dagger, swiping it at the intruder in a blind rage.

 

It sliced his cheek open, bled heavily, but he didn't even flinch.

 

“ _ Hey _ !” he cried. “It's considered rude to just cut people, you know.” he griped, and Keith plunged the knife deep into his belly.

 

It sunk to the hilt. He could feel the flesh give way underneath his hand, spongy and soft. People were so delicate, trapped within fleshy carcasses that was so unbelievably fragile. A life was so easy to end.

 

The intruder looked down at the dagger embedded in his gut. He blinked, then swivelled his head up to glare at Keith.

 

“Really? C'mon, man. Blood  _ stains _ , you know.” He looked at his shirt distastefully. “I'm sending you the dry cleaning bill.”

 

“How are you  _ not dead _ ?” Keith demanded.

 

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” he asked. Keith looked down at the knife, where the boy wrapped his fingers around the hilt and  _ pulled _ . It came out with a squelch, and he flung it on the ground. Blood spread across his shirt, and further stained the carpet from where it ran across the dark blade. 

 

“Why would that be a joke? I just  _ stabbed _ you.”

 

The intruder gives him a look like he's dumb. “Uh, cuz I'm already dead?  _ Duh _ .”

 

Keith blinked. His eyes narrowed on his face--

 

Now that he thought about it, he  _ did  _ look familiar. As in, he'd been the body floating in his tub last night.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah,  _ oh.”  _ he huffed. “I can't believe you ruined my favorite shirt. I was just trying to say  _ hello _ .”

 

Keith swung his legs over the side of the bed, scratching his head as he stood. “Uh, hi? Is that what you wanted?”

 

“A name would be nice. You  _ are  _ in my motel room, after all.”

 

Keith thought about asking him what that meant, but decided it wasn't worth it. Instead, he said “Keith,”

 

The dead man smiled, and it was such a jarring contrast to the blood oozing down his cheek and the gut wound that Keith couldn't help but stare. He was very pretty, for being dead.

 

“I'm Lance.”

 

†

 

Keith leaned against the railing, cigarette dangling between his lips. He took a drag and watched the heavy smoke curl around him. It was-- pretty, in a way. The smoke drifting into the desert backdrop.

 

The sun burned, but it felt good. He liked the arid air against his skin, deep in his lungs. It felt something like home.

 

_ What is home?  _ Keith thought to himself.

 

He'd never had a home, never stayed in one place for too long. 

 

_ It's a curse, _ he remembered his mother saying when he was fairly young, back when she would take him with her when she left. They traveled together, lived in thousands of towns in tents and motels and the backs of cars. They ate out of soup cans and went dumpster diving for clothes and amenities.

 

When she disappeared, he kept up the tradition. Traveled until he was so weary he could hardly move. 

 

Shadow Springs was the end of the line, it felt like. A whole lifetime of wandering, searching. The itch to run had finally faded.

 

Keith wondered why.

 

He sighed, taking another drag and jamming the lit cigarette into the flesh of his forearm, watching the skin turn red and char.

 

He pulled the smoke away. His skin was pale, despite years of being outside under the sun.

 

No burn marks, despite years of burning himself just for shits and giggles.

 

“That’s an interesting hobby, I must admit.”

 

Keith was expecting it to be Lance, for some reason, but when he looked up he was-- 

 

Surprised, certainly. The man, and he really _ was  _ a man in the best of ways, was much better than the irksome dead boy in his bathtub.

 

The eyes were so familiar, the warm grey like ash, like things left to burn, like old forgotten treasure that were just waiting for Keith to find. The scar slashing across the aquiline nose, such a breathtaking contrast (Keith has always been a sucker for the damaged). And the pale white hair.

 

The hair. Like-- like sand under the sun, like pale bone under the fragile carcass, flesh peeling and giving way to the beautiful white beneath. Like the moon, like the stars and everything under them,  _ like like like. _

 

Keith pushed down the bubbling emotion and shrugged. “Reminds me I'm still here.”

 

The beautiful man,  _ beautiful, eerie, etheral, otherworldly,  _ grinned and it was-- Keith wasn't a poet, but this man made him want to be. 

 

“We’ve all got demons.”

 

“Certainly.” Keith said, because it was such a broad statement.  _ We've all got demons _ . Of course. Most times Keith felt as if he  _ was  _ the demon.

 

(He doesn't say that, of course)

 

“You're new.” the man said. Not a question, because it was obvious that he  _ was _ new.

 

“I am.” 

 

A hand, dark metal,  _ mysterious _ , reached out for Keith to shake. 

 

“Takashi.”

 

It rolled across Keith's nerves, like flames singeing his skin, turning him to ash and dust to be blown into the wind.

 

He shook his hand,  _ Takashi’s hand _ , and it felt  _ right _ .

 

That hand should be in Keith's own for the rest of eternity.

 

“Keith.”

 

†

 

That night, Keith didn't dream of Takashi, like he had the past night.

 

_ (though how did he know, how did he dream of a man he had yet to meet?) _

 

The dream had that dream-like quality, like most dreams do, but part of it felt so-- 

 

Real. The word he’s looking for is  _ real. _

 

Instead of dreaming of pale skin and pale hair and pale eyes, he dreamed of a boy.

 

A dead boy, with blood dripping down his arms.

 

_ Lance _ , his mind provided.  _ His name is Lance _ .

 

He was so undeniably _ dead _ , and yet--

 

There was no blood, was there? Just smooth tan skin and sparking blue eyes, like water--

 

_ \--bloody bath water, overflowing the tub, pouring and pouring, wide eyes stared straight ahead and the scream as he drowned, struggling to breathe and yet-- _

 

Naked, honeyed skin. The soft chest and abdomen, hairless.

 

The curved cock, flushed to the tip, the heavy panting, chest rising and falling with each desperate inhale--

 

_ \--the still chest, heart frozen within that oh so fragile carcass. no more blood to give, drained into the water and spilled across the dark tile floor-- _

 

The moan, loud and desperate in the quiet darkness of room 7. The flushed face, from the tops of his ears to the tips of his toes, the writhing body against the sheets--

 

_ \--pale, lifeless skin. waxy. stiff limbs, bloated in the water. weeks of lying there, waiting to be discovered. maggots crawling from the eye sockets, devouring the once supple flesh-- _

 

A gasp. An easy smile, so relieved and excited and  _ pleased _ .

 

_ “That's it, Keith. Give me all you have” _

 

(he does).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact Keith stays in room seven cuz Lance considers himself the seventh wheel

**Author's Note:**

> if yall got questions hmu on [tumblr](https://smelly-milk.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/smellymilky?lang=en) n ill answer to the best of my ability lol


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